I’ve been here long enough now to know and recognize the strange symptoms of “Island Fever”. There is something about being cut off from the rest of the world that has a weird effect on people.
Eventually all the staff get Island Fever. Some get weepy and angry. I’ve seen one girl stare at her cell phone all night when she KNEW there was no reception. Maybe she thought it would magically start receiving texts if she stared at it. Others start bemoaning the lack of pizza. One staff member who was here for four months was almost disowned by her parents because they thought “I’m on a desert island with no access to communications” was a ridiculous lie and just an excuse not to talk to them.
My fever came as an obsession with potato chips. The weather had been cold and rainy for a month. My clothes had been worn to rags. I was in bad need of a haircut. Frankly, I had been on the island too long. I took a tumble on slippery tiles and thought I broke my leg which would have been pretty rotten bad luck considering how far away from help we are. Whatever I fell on had two prongs that gouged two little holes in my shin that looked exactly like a snake bite.
I don’t usually eat potato chips when I’m in the city and we don’t keep any on the island. So I sat there with my ragged clothes and my wild hair and my snake bitten leg and I thought “if I don’t have potato chips soon, I’m simply going to die.” Suddenly, just knowing that I couldn’t have them was enough to start the fixation. It took about a month before I could get on a supply run to town. By which stage I was crazed with the idea even though shopping involved having to wade ashore through shark infested waters! I finally got to the shop and bought five huge bags. After spending three days gorging on them, I remembered I really didn’t like potato chips.
Thankfully school holidays happened in mid-July. I went and met my man (who shall remain anonymous) in Sydney. We stayed in a “Deluxe Grand Harbour View” room with a 270 degree view of Sydney Harbour. I was looking so ragged when I turned up, I thought the five star hotel would take one look at me and boot me out the door. But somehow I got past reception and we drank champagne, ate expensive cheese, took advantage of all the decadence the city had to offer.
Now I’m back on the island. I feel much better now. The craving the chippies (and everything else the outside world has to offer) has subsided for the moment.
The island is beautiful again.
